


Steady On

by idyll



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Community: sg_flyboys, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-17
Updated: 2007-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've got it," John says into his mouth. "I've got it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omglawdork](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=omglawdork).



> omglawdork asked for one of the following: back at the Academy; Sheppard stuck temporarily Earthside; or drunken shenanigans

A group of marines find the bomb in a storage room that dates back to their first year on Atlantis. They bring it to the labs because they have no idea what it is. Neither does anyone in the lab. A chemist, whose name John doesn't bother remembering because Rodney is totally going to be sending him back to Earth, pokes at it and accidentally arms it.

Rodney is the one who sounds the alarm when he gets back to the labs from the mess and recognizes the device as one of Ba'al's little toys, which were found strewn about the SGC a few years back.

It takes two minutes for Dr. Lee to disarm the bomb once John brings it through the Gate from Atlantis. Rodney, he knows, is going to be supremely _pissed_ about that, but John's just so grateful it doesn't explode that he almost hugs Lee.

*

John has three weeks until the Daedelus returns and can take him back to Atlantis.

"Seems like you're about to take some long overdue leave," Landry says. It's jovial enough but there's also an edge to it.

John tries anyway. "I'd really rather--"

"Request denied." Landry raises his bushy brows, stands, and waves John at the door. "Get out of here, Colonel."

*

Outside the mountain, John is following an airman who is supposed to take him to approved off-base quarters, which John is told will be stocked with both food and clothing. The latter is rather helpful since John wasn't really thinking of clothing when he ran through the 'Gate.

The rev of an engine gets John's attention and he looks up in time to see Cam Mitchell execute a gorgeous three-point turn in his hot convertible and come to a stop right next to John.

John and Cam have known each other in passing for a bunch of years. They've gone drinking in the same large group a few times, and been temporarily stationed at the same bases a time or two. Once John came on board with the SGC, his and Cam's acquaintanceship shifted by subtle degrees into a friendship of a sort that involves trading inappropriate emails in the data bursts, hanging out whenever one of them is in the other's galaxy, and--on Cam's end--smuggling contraband on board the Daedelus in the form of snack chips and beer.

John steps up to the car, his hand reaching out automatically to stroke along the sun-warmed metal of the passenger-side doorframe. "Hey, Cam."

"Jackson gave me a heads up on your situation." John keeps touching the car, which really is a sweet little thing and makes John a kind of wistful, even though his life has plenty of perks on its own. Cam makes a noise and waves his hand in John's line of sight. "My eyes are up here, John."

John flips him off and looks up in his good old time, at which point his eyes widen. "You look a little..." He waves a hand. Cam stares at him. John clears his throat. "Edgy."

"Sam's been working on something at Area 52 for _weeks_ and has no idea _when_ she'll be done." Cam's edginess shifts, something wild and directionless filling his eyes. John recognizes the look, is about to start to feel it himself. "I'm on stand down until she's back."

That sucks more than John's own situation. "Landry just put me on leave until the Daedelus returns to take me back to Atlantis."

Cam scratches his neck in a way that seems almost compulsive. He glances at the airman, then at John. "Off-base quarters are crap." John kind of figured but he didn't really have another option. Cam, fortunately, gives him one. "Well, get in, then. I've got a spare room and I could use an extra set of hands."

*

They're at Cam's house only so long as it takes John to change into civvies that Cam lends him. Then, Cam switches the convertible for his pickup and drives them to Home Depot.

John sways a bit when they walk inside, overcome with the oddness of having been in Atlantis a few hours before, only to now find himself in the DIY mecca.

"Let's go!" Cam calls out, already half an aisle into the store and obviously not caring that John's entire mind has to reorder itself to this adjustment. "And grab another cart."

Cam is apparently on a mission and he fills the two carts with some of the most random assortment of home improvement necessities that John has ever seen.

"This break is good for me," Cam says as he marches down the bathroom aisle. He sounds like a man desperate to convince himself of a lie.

"Yeah, sure." John sounds like a guy who is patronizing a crazy man.

Cam glares over his shoulder while executing a tight left turn into the kitchen department where he makes a beeline for an oak pantry.

John bites back the sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue because he's been where Cam is, knows how much it really does fuck with your head to suddenly have your life be free and open and yours, but not really, and to know that as soon as you get used to it it'll shift back and you'll have to adjust in the other direction again.

John doesn't even say anything when Cam gets a manic glint in his eye and takes off for the flooring section.

*

It takes half a dozen trips to haul everything inside, and while Cam is moving compulsively from bag to bag, bottled up energy overwhelming and confusing him, John goes to the kitchen.

There's a case of beer in the fridge, unopened, and John grabs four of them and a bottle opener.

Cam shakes his head as soon as he sees the beer. "I haven't been eating or sleeping much. I don't think--"

John presses one into his hand and meets his eyes for the first time since they walked into Home Depot. "Cam. Drink it."

Cam's fingers are white-knuckled around the bottle when John takes his hand away. "Okay."

*

Two beers later Cam is a puddle on the sofa, his muscles having relaxed from the constant adrenaline rush that he's probably been fighting back since his unexpected downtime started. His head's still going though. For the last five minutes he's been staring at the Home Depot bags and mumbling things like "caulk in the bathroom" and "strip the cabinets" and "do something about that squeak".

John himself is faring better than Cam, having both slept and eaten on a regular basis in the recent past.

But four beers have softened the world around him enough that he's staring at Cam, who's sprawled indecently, legs spread, head pressed back against the sofa cushion, and one arm stretched out in such a way that it's pulling his t-shirt up. John's gaze falls on the muscled column of Cam's neck, lingers for a moment, and then is drawn down to the small strip of skin showing at his waist. John licks his lips and follows the inseam of Cam's rather tight jeans from hem to crotch.

Cam doesn't notice, which doesn't surprise John. He's still just talking under his breath, and John hears random snatches of a to-do list that isn't going to be enough to keep him distracted and calm.

John shifts in the recliner across from Cam and thinks about the first time they saw each other, in a bar filled with pilots, in the midst of a mob of people they both sort of knew, and the way their eyes had caught briefly before someone stepped up and introduced them. It was gone, just like that, and they never let it rear its head again, but that doesn't mean that it never happened, that it's not still happening beneath the surface, under the uniforms.

When John stands, Cam looks away from the bags. "What's up?"

John shakes his head and circles around the coffee table. He grabs Cam's legs and pulls them to the side. Cam swivels with the motion, boneless, while John lays him out on the couch with his head on a throw pillow.

Cam blinks up at him, blank and not all that concerned or curious, and the look holds when John climbs on top of him, settles in the cradle of Cam's thighs, and presses their hips together. The look _holds_ and John's lips tighten in frustration.

"Cam." Cam looks away and John grabs his face, brings it around again. "_Cam_."

Maybe it's John's tone--understanding and annoyed at once--or maybe it's the way he shoves his hips against Cam's, but it works. Cam's eyes flutter and his mouth falls open, and his hands come around John's back.

"Okay, yes, fuck." Cam is frantic and manic again, this time with direction and a purpose, but he's spread too thin to focus.

John dips his head and kisses him. There's no lead up, no tentativeness, just John driving his tongue into the warm wetness of Cam's mouth and pushing it against Cam's own while he drops all of his weight onto Cam. "I've got it," John says into his mouth. "I've got it."

John sets the rhythm, holds it, and carries it by himself. Cam's body under him is lax and welcoming and Cam himself is dazed and lost. John moves his hips in long, slow circles, pins Cam's biceps against the couch cushions and licks hard strips down the sides of Cam's neck in between kissing him with teeth and tongue.

Cam makes noises at the back of his throat, low and reedy at first, but they increase in strength and volume as it goes on, until Cam's eyes open and he sucks in a huge breath, looking startled. And then Cam is present, suddenly and vibrantly. He wraps his legs around John's, digs his heels into the back of John's calves, and meets every one of John's thrusts.

His arms flex in John's grip, push against the pressure, and John starts to let go.

"No," Cam gasps. "Leave 'em."

John holds on harder than before, holds Cam down with more force and intent, and Cam shudders and growls, tendons in his neck popping. John puts his mouth to Cam's ear, bites the lobe, then whispers, "Come. Fucking _come_, Cam."

Cam shifts his legs, tightens them around John so that he's got John pinned to him, and he pushes up, ruts against John's immobilized hips, and John's the one who comes, who gasps and freezes and spills in the jeans he borrowed from Cam.

When he opens his eyes, Cam is staring at him, his eyes dark and wide, his sweaty face twisted into a grimace. John lets go of one of his arms and slides a hand between them. Cam loosens his hold on John's legs enough that John can cup his palm against the curved line of Cam's dick through his jeans and boxers, and rub at the head with hard fingers.

Cam groans, loud and drawn out, and comes against John's hand, wet and hot, shivering like his release is violent under his skin, like it ricochets around inside before finding its way out.

*

They strip a decade's worth of paint from Cam's kitchen counters the next day, fix some tiles that are peeling by the stove, and then Cam blows John against the refrigerator. They fall into Cam's bed at the end of the day, exhausted by the physical labor, and wake in the middle of the night to rub off against each other until they come.

The day after that, John fucks Cam in between caulking the guest bathroom and painting the spare room, and when they wake up in the middle of the night again, Cam returns the favor.

On the third day they put a floor down in Cam's utility room and as soon as they're done John bends Cam over his workbench and fucks him to two orgasms before unwrapping his fingers from the base of his cock and coming himself. When they wake in the middle of the night they curl around each other, suck each other off for what feels like eternity.

It goes on like that, sex and mindless home repair and bodies too tired to lay awake in bed but too wired to sleep a whole night without having the edge taken off.

Three weeks pass without John realizing it, and he's surprised when the call comes from the Mountain reminding him that the Daedelus is due to arrive that evening.

*

Cam retreats to the garage after the call comes in, and John uses the time to shower and dress. His BDUs feel simultaneously familiar and strange against his skin after so many days of wearing Cam's worn jeans and soft cotton shirts, which were loose and comfortable and made John curl his hands inside the sleeves and tuck his toes against the frayed hems.

When John goes into the living room, Cam is waiting, his keys hanging idly from one finger while he slips his wallet into his back pocket. "All set?"

John picks up the small bag of stuff he's accumulated: a few books and some gifts for several people. "I'm good."

Cam nods, almost absently, and makes his way to the door, which he opens and then shoves closed as soon as John gets there. He slides a hand along John's side and tugs, the motion more of a question than a demand. John shouldn't go. It'll fuck with the compartmentalizing they've done since the call came in if he does, and he knows it.

But Cam reached out and John's never been good at refusing an offer like that, of rejecting that kind of affection. So John lets himself be pulled in by the light pressure on his side, until he and Cam are pressed up against one another. John fits their mouths together, and Cam deepens the kiss, and it's brief, so brief, and then they pull away, look away, and force another reshuffling and adjustment.

Cam tosses John the keys once they're outside, gets in the convertible on the passenger side, and says, "Take the long way."

*

.End


End file.
